


all these words that are proof of its existence

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Mutually Unrequited, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In a way, the joke the universe played on you was funny after everything was done and said.





	all these words that are proof of its existence

There's this one kid, at Midtown High School of Science and Technology, who you've heard of that has an internship at Stark Industries. Apparently he's really special because he's the only student who's managed to do that since the school was established in 1962. You've seen him around in passing, heard his botched name whispered around in the hallways by some douche and said douche's groupies who think they're above everybody else.

(They call him Penis Parker. And for now, until you find out what his name actually is, you will refer to the internship kid as that as well. But only the Parker part, not Penis. Gods knows what would be running through someone's head if they named their child Penis and it appeared on another person's skin. You could only imagine it would be a horrific experience.)

From afar, he looks so carefree. From the way he laughs with his friends at lunchtime or when you see him diligently taking down notes in the few classes you have together, everything about him looks put together like a piece of a bigger puzzle.

 

Your friends ask if you have a crush on him.

You tell them it's just a healthy curiosity, shifting yourself in a way that allows to them to see a little of the beginnings of your soulmate's name before you straighten up, hiding it away like you always do. You've never shown them, they've never seen it. They've whined about your secrecy before, mostly in a joking manner, but this time, they look contemplative as you try to continue eating your food. It unnerves you, their silence that is, and you try to block it out with the vibrant chatter that bounces off the walls and into your ears. You pick up small conversations from the group of people next to your own, fully intent on listening in to their whole conversation before one of your friends pipes up.

"[Name]." Placing down their spoon and looking straight into your eyes, they question in a soft whisper, "Is Peter Parker your soulmate?"

You choke on today's choice of lentils. It seems like your patience has finally paid off and now you know the internship kid's name. Meanwhile, as you try to recover, you can hear the gears shifting in every single head of your friends'. If you don't speak soon, they'll get the wrong idea and it'll be a mess and a half to clean up if dubious rumours got out. Especially for Parker. The poor boy would probably get harassed because of them by the aforementioned douche if you don't answer back in the next thirty seconds.

"No," you confess, watching in faint amusement as their shocked faces grow slack. "He's not my soulmate."

~~(He's just somebody who might know how to contact yours is something you fail to mention.)~~

The bell rings and you place your tray in the collection trolley, leaving them all to wallow in their individual pits of handmade confusion.

 

•

 

After school (and a quick study session in the library), you hum to yourself as you wait for the train to arrive and deliver you to the station a block away from your home.

It is then that you spot him, ~~Penis~~ Peter Parker, a few feet away. You check the time. It's only half past three, but usually, you've seen him leave as soon as the bell goes off at 2:45. You figure he has some kind of assignment due soon and did the same as you by staying behind a little later than everybody else. Or maybe he forgot something and came back to school to retrieve it.

Somewhere in that egg-scrambled, tired and mind-melded brain of yours after hours of schoolwork, you thought it was a good idea to approach him. Here. At the station. Without the pressure of your friends' prying eyes or anybody else's on your back. 

"Hey, Parker." He looks up from his phone to meet your bored gaze. He flinches a bit, minutely enough for you to almost miss, and takes out his earbud.

"Y-Yes? How can I... help you?"

"Um, could I borrow your phone for a bit?" you ask, pointing at the aforementioned object in his hand. He looks ready to object within a heartbeat of registering your request, but you cut him off with your best acting skills and your stance morphs into an embarrassed one. "It'll only be for a minute, promise! I forgot mine at home, but I just need to call a friend of mine... so I can..." You try to think of something reasonable to fool him. "So I can... tell them that I accidentally picked up their physics book instead of mine, yeah—that's all!"

He might've have felt pity for you by the way he steadfastly held out his phone for you to take. "Go ahead then." 

"Oh, thanks!" Turning your back on him, you quickly swipe to find his contacts, ignoring how badly cracked his screen is. You open the app, scowling down until you find the name your looking for. A miracle must've been blessed upon you. One, for the fact that Parker hasn't already become suspicious when there was supposed to be a tale-telling tapping noise if you really were calling your friend, and secondly, for the fact that your intuition was right for once and he had the one number only an intern would have for cases of emergency.

You jam your finger down on the small phone icon in the corner before holding the device up to your ear.

It rings, loud and clear.

You wait.

 

•

 

It was a closely guarded secret of yours; symbolic in a way people would never understand unless you revealed the truth.

When someone asked about it, you'd tell them you weren't comfortable with sharing and they'd immediately drop the subject. In this day and age, it was rude to press further if a person refused to answer. It was just a universal fact, common courtesy, social sense and anything else it has been called over the years. Children are taught this from the moment they start to read and write, whilst adults suggest and praise this (unwritten) option of utmost privacy.

But with how the world worked most days, there didn't seem to be a bit of decency in your age bracket. Teenagers, you found, were finicky when it came to whether they showed it off or not. Some proudly posted pictures of theirs on the internet daily, in hopes of finding their fated person, without much luck—others, much like yourself, chose to wander through their middle and high school years without questioning the whys or hows. Some desired romance, others craved companionship, you, however, wanted closure. You just wanted to garner a good reputation and a stellar GPA for your future, there wasn't much to dwell on if you spent the rest of your life searching for your other half. There were better things to do in that time.

Maybe that's why your parents call you a prude every morning, before leaving for school, when they saw you wearing button-ups, high collars or turtle necks to hide the name that curled around your throat.

They are only people who know and they've raised you from zygote to now, so they probably just want you to be happy.

But you don't need that. 

Watching the news now and then is enough for somebody like you, somebody whose soulmate is so close yet so far out to reach.

After all— **now** —if you had the chance, you'd only want to tell them one thing.

This very moment is that chance.

 

Listening to the ringing tone go off the first time has you flexing your free hand. During the second, you start sweating bullets. And as the third begins, a little part of you dies.

It's only near the end of the fourth beat that the person on the other side picks up.

_"Hey, Underoos, you've kinda called me at a bad—"_

"I am [Name] [Surname] and I would just like to congratulate you on your engagement, Mr Stark. I've been waiting for a ring to appear on Ms Potts ever since you hired her."

Cloth rustles slightly in the background. _"... Is this some kind of joke?"_

"It's not," you answer, deadpan, and end the call without hesitation. 

 

You hand the phone back to its rightful owner, whose jaw looks close to hitting the ground. And you see the train nearing. Behind you, the strangled sounds Parker makes as he continuously ignores his phone ringing before ultimately deciding to shut it down filters through your hearing. You don't feel sorry for him, and instead, you feel like the phantom weight that's been bearing down on you all this time and up until now has been set free. It feels like it never existed in the first place.

You unbutton your collar when you enter the train, fully aware of Parker's eyes trained on the back of your head, relishing in the cool air that hits your uncovered neck for the first time in years.

~~(People stare unabashedly at the name inked in metallic gold. They recogninse what it is and what it represents, but none of them have the guts to ask if it's fake. They know better than not to ask in a world like this. Where stories like yours aren't as uncommon as people liked to think, or delude themselves into thinking they weren't possible at all.)~~

In a way, the joke the universe played on you was funny after everything was done and said.

A laugh, quite unlike your usual one, bubbles to the surface and makes itself known, startling the still bewildered boy by your side.

You can't wait to break the news to your parents and see their reactions.

**Author's Note:**

> I write strange things when I'm tired.
> 
> ... Have a nice day!


End file.
